


in the tide of your arms

by sameolsituation



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Accidental wetting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Birthday Sex, Boys In Love, Deliberate Wetting, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Maylor - Freeform, Modern Era, Old Married Couple, Piss kink, Praise Kink, Watersports, Wetting, cum slut roger taylor, old Maylor, old man sex, piss kink but make it romantic, romantic smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-10-01 20:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameolsituation/pseuds/sameolsituation
Summary: “You know I’d love to give all these people a show, Rog,” Brian says easily, by now beyond used to Roger’s quick remarks. “Let them see who you belong to. But I think, since it’s your birthday and all, we could go for a little more.”--Brian and Roger decide to celebrate Roger's birthday in their favorite way.





	in the tide of your arms

**Author's Note:**

> Life is exceptionally difficult right now so I apologize for sporadic story-posting. 
> 
> I told a friend before I started writing this that I had an idea for a story the entire fandom would hate. I'm pretty sure I succeeded in that creation.  
Please read the tags a minimum of three times before reading the story.  
Sorry (not sorry) Brian and Roger.
> 
> Update: as of 8/26/19, I've made a Tumblr for my Queen fics! Feel free to come talk to me there, under the username saameolsituation.

“So tell me, Rog, how does it feel to be very old?”

“Why are you asking me? You’re older than me,” Roger answers. He pauses, a frown appearing on his face as doubt flickers across his features. “Aren’t you?”

Brian shrugs, sipping from his drink indifferently. “I don’t think so. Not anymore, maybe.” He nearly giggles at the way Roger’s frown deepens, his prior confusion evidently melting into irritation, the change amusing Brian for inexplicable reasons.

“I think _you’ve _had too much to drink,” Roger says, gently bumping his shoulder against Brian’s upper arm. The glass in his hand wobbles a little, but Brian steadies himself before anything spills.

“No, I think _you’ve _had too much to drink,” Brian counters. He realizes vaguely that the back-and-forth they’re beginning to get into is ultimately pointless, but the alcohol he’s consumed is warm in his stomach and all he feels is an overwhelming fondness for the man standing beside him.

They’ve known each other for fifty years; a lifetime and then some, in his opinion. It’s hard to believe it’s been such a long time since he first met Roger, who was then two months shy of twenty, a loudmouthed boy who never stayed still and who somehow managed to make a bowl cut look good.

Brian was smitten from the start, particularly when Roger smiled at him on those rare occasions when they managed to get along. Regardless of Brian’s secret attraction to him, they fought like cats and dogs at times, disagreeing on anything and everything, sometimes just for the sake of having differing opinions.

Roger had a temper and he never shut up and sometimes he wrote the dumbest songs, but he was also the most capable drummer Brian had ever seen, and when they played together, there was a feeling between them that they couldn’t put into words.

Roger was bright and energetic and full of life in a way that mesmerized Brian.

Roger was a never-ending supernova and Brian never stood a chance.

Brian had been sure he’d never get a chance to tell Roger how he felt; they disagreed so much on almost everything that he was sure Roger would think any confession would be a means of conceding his defeat.

But one night they ended up at Brian’s flat two weeks before the last Christmas of the sixties, caught up in the midst of another one of their infamous arguments. Brian had nearly forgotten what they were arguing over to begin with, but Roger was growing increasingly agitated as their argument escalated.

Roger’s hands were balled into fists and Brian was certain he was on the verge of having the nearest piece of furniture thrown at his head, but then Roger marched forward, closed any remaining distance between their bodies, and kissed Brian with such force that Brian stumbled backwards. The kiss was only unbroken by Roger’s hands gripping Brian’s hips to prevent him from completely losing his balance.

When the kiss ended, Brian was too dumbfounded to speak, so Roger leaned back in and kissed him again, biting down on Brian’s lower lip in the midst of it to coax him into action. There were a lot of things Brian wanted to say, but all his brain could focus on was the way Roger’s mouth tasted, the way Roger was wrapped around him, the boiling heat of their anger quieting into a simmering, needy burn.

Brian let Roger take what he wanted, and by the end of the night they ended up tangled in Brian’s sheets, marks coloring their skin from an aggression lingering even in the midst of their passion.

That was the night Brian found out that his secret attraction to Roger was mutual.

It’s been a whirlwind since then; a blur of music and album releases and tours and success they never could have fathomed as teenagers, mixed in with holidays and birthdays and thousands of arguments and at least two hundred break-ups.

They may have broken up a million times over the smallest of disagreements, but their feelings have been the one constant between them throughout all this time; even as their music gained international attention and they came under possession of more money than they knew what to do with, even as they aged and the world changed around them, Roger always came home to Brian.

Brian marvels briefly at the two rings on his fingers, their edges clinking softly against his glass as he studies them. The first is a promise ring Roger had given him on Brian’s thirty-third birthday in 1980; it was a promise that, according to Roger, no matter how famous they became or how much they changed, Roger would always be there for Brian.

Roger turned thirty-one a week later and Brian responded in kind with a promise ring of his own. Roger had scoffed in disbelief that Brian had essentially copied his idea for a present instead of coming up with something new, but seeing the earnest look on Brian’s face made him sigh softly and let Brian slide it on, only turning _slightly _pink when Brian kissed the back of his hand afterwards.

And in a month, it will be an entire five years – half a decade – since they got married. A week after it became legal in England, Brian got down on one knee (literally, as difficult as that was) and proposed to Roger with a shiny gold band in the palm of his hand.

Roger looked at him with tears shimmering in his eyes and said, “Are you fucking daft, of _course_ I’ll marry you,” and four months later they were officially husbands.

Brian moved his promise ring to his right hand on the day they were married, but even though it’s a little tarnished with age, he rarely takes it off. To those who don’t know Roger and Brian’s history, it seems to pale in comparison to his flashier wedding ring, but Brian looks at it as a sign of how far they’ve come; from two kids who dreamed of taking over the world, to legends who’ve left an indelible mark on that world and have somehow managed to keep their relationship semi-stable along the way.

“You’re thinking too much,” Brian hears, and he blinks a few times as his recollections of the past dissipate before his eyes, leaving him with nothing but the steady thumping of the club music surrounding him and Roger standing in front of him, concern etched across his face. “Bri? Are you still in there?”

“Sorry,” Brian says quickly. “I was just thinking about… well, how lucky I am to have you.”

“Of course you were, you sappy old bastard,” Roger says, shaking his head fondly and taking a sip from his own glass. “It’s my _birthday, _Brian; we’re supposed to be _celebrating._ Come and celebrate with me.” Roger steps forward so that his body presses up against Brian’s, all heat and warmth and invitation, looking at Brian with a coy smile and a raised eyebrow.

Roger’s libido hasn’t wavered at all even with the passing of time; he frequently talks about the week they spent together in between Brian’s thirtieth birthday and Roger’s twenty-eighth, during which they locked themselves up in Brian’s home, took his phone off the hook, and spent the entire week either sleeping or fucking or eating. Roger had a glow around him for weeks after, and even Freddie and John had commented on how much more agreeable Roger seemed during rehearsals and band meetings thereafter.

It’s a little more difficult to spend that sort of time together now, but they try to squeeze in a day or two alone whenever they can; Roger still makes it clear to Brian that he has needs to be taken care of, and Brian’s still more than happy to take care of those needs for him.

“What did you have in mind?” Brian asks, purposely letting the tension between them linger and build, especially since patience has never been Roger’s strong suit. Roger is already trying to press in closer, not bothering to care about anyone who might see them, nearly spilling his drink on Brian’s shirt as he leans in and mouths at the curve of Brian’s neck.

“Hmm,” Roger says, pretending to ponder the question in between attempting to suck marks into the hollow of Brian’s throat. “I have to admit, I’ve been thinking a lot about your hands on me... Maybe a little more than that, even. If you’re up for it,” he says, never failing to nudge Brian into a challenge.

“I think that can be arranged,” Brian says, attempting—and failing spectacularly—to stifle his low moan as Roger nips gently at the curve of his neck. “Should we take this somewhere more private?”

“Why? Not as bold as you used to be, Dr. May?” Roger teases, pulling back to give Brian his full attention, mischief alight in his eyes.

Brian is entirely unprepared for the rush of heat that courses through his body as Roger grins at him, as shameless as ever, as needy as ever.

Fifty years and not a damn thing has changed.

“You know I’d love to give all these people a show, Rog,” Brian says easily, by now beyond used to Roger’s quick remarks. “Let them see who you belong to. But I think, since it’s your birthday and all, we could go for a little _more_.”

“You _filthy _bastard,” Roger gasps, playing affronted. “Come on, then!” he adds, curling his fingers in the fabric of Brian’s shirt as a means to tug him away from the crowd of people out on the floor. Brian stops him before they can get very far, and Roger’s irritation is palpable.

“Wait a minute,” Brian says, and Roger groans.

“_Brian,_” he all but whines.

“_Roger,_” Brian echoes. “I think it would be a bit rude to leave without finishing our drinks first,” he says, shaking the glass in his hand slightly to slosh the liquid around for emphasis. Something like surprise flickers across Roger’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appears.

Brian dips his index finger into the glass and swirls it around for a few seconds before offering his hand to Roger, whose eyes darken as he leans in and wraps his lips around Brian’s finger, sucking on it in the most obscene way possible.

“Good boy,” Brian offers. Roger hums softly, pleased by Brian’s praise. Roger pulls back eventually, standing there nearly pressed against Brian with a flush beginning to bloom on his cheeks and his lips slightly parted. Brian lifts his glass and gently presses the rim against Roger’s lips. Roger opens his mouth a little further on instinct, and Brian smiles.

“Drink up, Rog,” he says, tipping the glass forward and letting its contents pour into Roger’s open mouth. He might be a little too invested in watching the way Roger’s throat moves as he drinks, although he’s careful not to get too distracted and pour too much; he doesn’t want Roger to choke (on that, anyway).

It’s not long before the glass is empty; Brian pulls back and sets the glass down on a nearby table before turning his attention back to Roger, who’s clearly so impatient that Brian can almost feel the tension radiating from his body.

Instead of giving in and hurrying things along, Brian gestures to the half-empty glass in Roger’s hand.

“Come on, drink yours too,” Brian says. “I know you must be thirsty.”

It’s a game they’ve played since the seventies, but no matter how familiar it’s become it never fails to send a thrill through Brian when Roger gives in and plays along. Watching Roger now obediently gulping down his own drink, Brian is reminded of all the times on tour that they filled their free time with this game; plying Roger with liquids, pushing him into the nearest bathroom or closet or unoccupied room, pressing up against him and letting him squirm and moan and beg in desperation until he couldn’t hold on any longer.

It was merely Roger’s thing at first, but seeing how Roger enjoyed it so thoroughly made Brian curious, and soon it became his thing as well; he quickly discovered that the sight of Roger desperate and begging was one of his favorite sights, quite possibly more beautiful than many—if not all—of the major landmarks they saw in all the cities they traveled to.

They always ended up with a _lot _of spare changes of clothing and a _lot _of laundry to be done, but Brian thought an endless amount of laundry would be worth the contented smile on Roger’s face after he was satisfied.

That, and the frankly incredible sex; there was absolutely nothing like fucking Roger after such a release, when Roger was particularly keyed up and receptive to every touch and desperate then to come.

Nowadays, the sex is a little gentler and their game isn’t played as frequently, but sometimes Roger will get a gleam in his eye and pout sweetly at him and Brian will always give in and come play.

Roger finishes his drink and sets the glass down next to the first on the table. Before Brian has a chance to open his mouth to speak, Roger pounces, pressing himself flush against Brian again and kissing him fiercely. Brian opens his mouth slightly to let Roger lick into it, tasting the sharp tang of what he thinks is vodka in the recesses of Roger’s mouth.

The kiss is dizzying, and Brian runs out of breath quickly. Roger pulls back just when Brian feels as though his lungs are about to burst, pressing his forehead against Brian’s and smiling almost wolfishly.

“You just can’t wait, can you?” Brian murmurs, their faces so close that Brian is almost whispering the words against Roger’s lips. “Need me that badly? Need me to take care of you?”

“Always,” Roger says, firm like a promise. He steps back and reaches for Brian’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing just once.

And then he’s tugging Brian away again and Brian’s tripping over his feet just trying to catch up. Roger’s found his way to the corner of the room and he’s pushing open a door with a sign on it that Brian doesn’t get a chance to read.

Roger closes the door behind them and locks it, and Brian’s relieved to discover that the room is a bathroom, thankfully designed for one person with only a single toilet and a single sink; it has just enough space to fit the two of them with some room left to spare.

Brian lets his body take over and pushes Roger up against the wall, pressing his lips to Roger’s as his hand creeps in between their bodies and slips down to Roger’s trousers, palming his cock through the fabric. Roger moans into Brian’s mouth and spreads his legs a little, pushing into Brian’s hand; all too eager to be touched.

Brian breaks the kiss after a minute or two, their faces still so close that their lips are nearly touching regardless. He palms Roger’s cock a little harder, enjoying Roger’s resounding moan. A part of him wants to slip his hand inside Roger’s trousers and touch him directly, touch him until Roger’s coming apart with Brian’s name on his lips, but that can wait until later.

They’ve got another kind of fun to have first.

“Are you feeling it yet, Rog?” Brian asks, slipping his free hand between their bodies and briefly pressing his palm against Roger’s stomach. Roger gasps softly and nods. “Talk to me,” Brian reminds him gently.

“A bit,” Roger admits. Downing the rest of Brian’s drink and his own drink in quick succession made those his third and fourth of the night, and Brian knows his control isn’t as good as it used to be.

They once spent a weekend in the seventies just testing how much Roger could hold (all in the name of science, of course); Brian made an elaborate chart and everything, depicting how the length of time Roger was able to hold was inversely proportional to the number of glasses of water he drank.

Roger’s record was six hours and he’d cried when he let go.

Brian knows there’s no way Roger can hold on that long now, but Brian has no problem with that; he’s feeling rather impatient himself, his own cock quickly hardening as he tends to Roger.

He also may or may not already be picturing the way Roger will look when he finally lets go and soaks himself.

“How long do you think you can hold on?” Brian asks, instead of voicing what he’s actually thinking, which is something along the lines of _I want to see you lose it, piss yourself for me. _

He’ll get there soon enough.

“I don’t know,” Roger says, chewing on his lip for a moment in thought. “How long do you _want _me to hold on?”

“Maybe I don’t,” Brian murmurs, making Roger shudder at the implication of his words. “Maybe,” he starts, pressing down on Roger’s stomach again, a little harder this time, “I want to see you wet yourself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Roger says, a breathy laugh escaping him as Brian pulls his hand away from Roger’s trousers and places it on Roger’s jawline, tilting Roger’s head up slightly to press kisses alongside the underside of his jaw.

“Hmm, no, it wouldn’t be,” Brian agrees in between kisses. “And it won’t be the last time, either. You have no idea how beautiful you look when you lose control. I’d see it every day if I could.”

Roger flushes, a tinge of barely-there pink on his skin, and squirms as Brian kisses down the side of his throat. “You’re just trying to flatter me so I’ll be willing to do whatever you want,” Roger huffs, albeit good-naturedly. “Always the charmer, you are.”

“Is it working?” Brian teases. “Come on, sweet thing. Show me how good you can be.”

He moves the hand on Roger’s jaw back down to the slight bulge in Roger’s trousers and waits patiently.

There’s a tension-filled silence that stretches between them for some time, before Roger tenses against him and Brian feels the slightest bit of warmth against his palm. Not enough to be visibly noticeable to anyone else; just enough to please Brian.

“That’s it, love,” Brian praises him. “Be a good boy and let go for me.”

Brian presses down on Roger’s stomach again as a final act of encouragement, and Roger gives a shuddery sort of sigh and the warmth against Brian’s hand builds and spills, quickly soaking through Roger’s trousers and coursing in rivulets over Brian’s fingers, filling Brian’s palm.

Roger pisses himself right then and there, pressed up against Brian in a cramped bathroom in a bar they’re too drunk to remember the name of, whining and moaning through it as his piss streaks down his legs and puddles by his shoes. There’s enough not only to soak his trousers but Brian’s as well, just from how close they’re standing, and Brian silently thanks the stars that they’re both wearing black trousers.

Finally his stream starts to die down, turning into a trickle followed by a few last spurts and eventually stopping completely. The sound of Roger’s trousers dripping and Roger panting fill the room and Brian allows himself only a moment to attempt to control the dizzying rush of arousal he feels before he sets to work.

“That was perfect, you’re always so good for me, Rog,” Brian murmurs, moving his hands from Roger’s body to the button of his own trousers, hastily undoing them and pushing them down to his upper thighs, along with his pants. “Will you hold still for me?”

Roger nods, although there’s a haze in his eyes that suggests he’s gone under; Brian silently marvels at the fact that after all this time, Roger still goes under for him so willingly and so easily.

He reaches for Roger’s trousers next, mindful of how soaking wet they are as he carefully undoes them and pushes them down to Roger’s upper thighs. Brian curls his fingers in the waistband of Roger’s pants and pulls it away from Roger’s body, leaving a space between the fabric and his skin.

With his free hand, Brian reaches for his own cock and carefully tucks the head underneath the waistband, pressing it flush against Roger’s hip.

“Bri,” Roger whispers, and Brian pauses, looking back at him. Roger’s gazing intently at where Brian’s pressed up against him in a sort of palpable awe.

It’s not something they haven’t done before, but Brian will admit it’s been a very long time since they have.

“Do you want me to stop?” Brian asks.

“No! No, please, Bri,” Roger says immediately. “I want it. Please.”

It feels like an eternity passes before anything happens; Brian finds it quite difficult to get started, what with his cock taking a greater interest in how their bodies are in close contact. But eventually, the smallest spurt leaks from his cock, leaving a trail as it runs down Roger’s skin.

Brian concentrates as best as he can, and the single spurt is followed by a few more spurts that finally become a solid stream, flowing hot over Roger’s hip and leaking straight through his already saturated pants, soaking through his trousers and mixing with the small puddles of Roger’s piss on the floor. Brian shifts his position just slightly and his piss flows in rivulets over Roger’s cock, making his cock twitch and resulting in another moan leaving Roger’s lips, the sound echoing throughout the room.

Brian’s stream doesn’t last nearly as long as Roger’s did; Brian didn’t need to go that badly, but Roger has always loved getting pissed on and Brian can’t resist indulging him.

Brian pulls his cock out of Roger’s pants and briefly rubs the head against Roger’s stomach to get rid of any stray drops of piss. He lets go after a moment to slip one hand into Roger’s pants and grasp Roger’s cock, already fully hard from all that has just transpired.

He strokes Roger’s cock a few times before Roger is whining and trying to push him away. “Bri, stop, please,” he says breathlessly. Brian does as he’s asked, immediately stopping and pulling his hand out of Roger’s pants.

“What is it, Rog? Did I hurt you?” he asks, concerned.

“No, the opposite, really,” Roger says. “I’m close already. If you keep that up I’m gonna come too soon. I don’t want to come if you’re not inside me while I’m doing it,” he admits.

“Is that so?” Brian asks, delighted with Roger’s confession. “You want me to fuck it out of you? I bet I could make you come without even touching you,” he says, even though that’s also something they haven’t been able to do for a very long time.

“You _better_,” Roger answers. “I’m expecting nothing less. Don’t let me down.”

“You’re absolutely unbelievable,” Brian tells him, raising his head to press a brief kiss against Roger’s forehead. “Come on, let’s get these off,” he adds, tugging at Roger’s trousers; Brian assumes they must feel horribly uncomfortable by now, what with the piss starting to cool.

Together, they manage to wrestle Roger’s trousers down his legs and off of him; Brian has no idea why Roger still wears skintight trousers – they might look great on him, but in a situation like this they’re more of a hindrance than anything else. Roger has to kick his shoes off just to get the trousers off completely, and his pants soon follow. Brian takes his own off too, just so they won’t get in the way, leaving them both clothed in only their shirts. He makes sure to leave their trousers and pants a distance from the puddles on the floor so they might have half a chance of drying before they leave the bathroom.

“I think I quite like you like this,” Brian hums, kissing Roger’s forehead again, just because he can. “You’re so beautiful.”

“How is it that you’re _still_ attempting to charm the pants off me when my pants are already off?” Roger asks, the flush on his skin deepening as Brian tugs him close.

“Because I know how much you love it. Now, are you going to let me take care of you?”

“Of course,” Roger says. Brian smiles at him, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together before gently pulling him towards the sink and the mirror above it. Brian nudges Roger closer to the sink, slotting himself behind Roger and taking both of Roger’s hands in his own this time, their fingers fitting together easily as Brian gently kisses the nape of Roger’s neck.

“My gorgeous Rog,” Brian says.

“Not as gorgeous as I used to be,” Roger mumbles.

“None of that. You’re just as gorgeous now as you were the day I met you,” Brian insists. “You know, the day I met you, I swore I’d found the first living, breathing angel on Earth. You’re _radiant, _love. The stars blessed me when they allowed our paths to cross. You’ll always be my beautiful angel.”

“Now you’re going to make me cry,” Roger complains. “You’re supposed to be fucking me. Get on with it.”

“As you wish.” He guides Roger’s hands to each side of the sink, letting Roger grab onto it for leverage as Brian bends him over it. “I’m assuming you brought lube?”

“Pocket of my trousers,” Roger says. Brian returns to the pile of their trousers on the floor, picking up Roger’s trousers from underneath his own, digging in the pockets until he finds a small bottle of lube and a strip of condoms.

“Condom or no condom?” Brian asks.

“Brian.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s my fucking birthday.”

“I know.”

“If you don’t come inside me, I swear to God I’m quitting the bloody band.”

“Point taken,” Brian chuckles, taking the container of lube out of Roger’s pocket but leaving the strip of condoms inside. He drops Roger’s trousers back down on the floor and opens the container of lube, coating two fingers in a generous amount to start with.

In the midst of carefully applying the lube to his fingers, Brian glances at Roger and his cock throbs at what he sees; Roger’s eyes are darkened with lust as he leans over the sink, his legs spread wide enough that Brian can see his hard cock nearly dripping, in desperate need of attention, even though Brian’s barely touched him yet.

There’s a heat curling in his stomach and Brian briefly wonders how he ever got so lucky.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Brian asks, coming up behind Roger and setting the container of lube down on the edge of the sink, just within arms’ reach.

“Of course,” Roger says, an edge of incredulity mixed with irritation in his voice. “Please.”

Brian hums his approval, placing his lube-free hand on Roger’s hip and pressing a delicate kiss to the top of Roger’s spine. He reaches down with his lube-slick fingers and presses them between Roger’s cheeks, letting the tips of those fingers rub teasingly over his rim. Roger whines impatiently and tries to push back against him, but Brian moves as he moves, never failing to be almost as much of a tease as Roger.

“Brian,” Roger moans, sounding fucked-out before Brian’s even slipped a finger inside him.

“I know, I know. I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Brian soothes, finally succumbing to Roger’s wishes and pushing the tip of his index finger into him, giving Roger some time to adjust to it before he twists his wrist and presses in deeper, sinking in to the second knuckle. Roger pushes back on him again, impatient as always, making Brian’s finger sink in fully. Brian curls his finger and starts to slowly fuck Roger with it, reveling in every little gasp and whine he pulls from Roger’s lips.

It’s almost obscene, the way Roger’s hole clenches around Brian’s finger, drawing him in deeper; the way Roger spreads his legs wider as Brian touches him, as if attempting to coax him in for more.

Brian’s gaze lifts to the mirror, watching the way Roger reacts as Brian slowly adds a second finger inside him. Roger’s absolutely _stunning _like this, all desperate and flushed, his cheeks reddened and his lips parted on shuddering breaths. The reflection of Brian’s eyes in the mirror is dark as he lets his middle finger sink into Roger completely; spreading those two fingers apart to stretch him out, trying to resist the urge to forget the preparation and just shove his cock into him already.

“Look at yourself,” Brian urges instead, something rough in his voice as he curls his fingers and presses in a little deeper, apparently managing to catch Roger’s most sensitive spot with the way Roger jerks against him. “Look how well you’re taking it, sweet thing. Look how beautiful you are. You were just made for me to fuck, weren’t you?”

Roger’s eyes meet his in the mirror, and Brian sees nothing in the depths of Roger’s gaze but his own lust reflected back tenfold.

“Bri, please,” Roger begs, words falling from his lips mindlessly. “I need you.”

“Tell me what you need,” Brian encourages. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I need you to fuck me, _please_,” Roger says, pushing back against the press of Brian’s fingers again for emphasis.

“I’d be more than happy to,” Brian answers, pulling his fingers free from Roger’s hole, much to Roger’s disappointment. He reaches for the container of lube on the sink, reopening it and applying some more to the palm of his hand, quickly slicking his cock with the substance. Just the touch of his own hand on his cock is almost too much to bear, and he has to bite his lip to stifle a moan as he works the lube over himself.

“Hurry up,” Roger grumbles. Brian closes the container of lube and sets it back on the sink, then lightly smacks Roger’s ass in reprimand, making Roger nearly yelp in response.

“Even though it’s your birthday, I don’t have to fuck you,” Brian reminds him. “Do you want me to leave you like this?”

“…No,” Roger admits, so quiet even Brian can barely hear him.

“Then are you going to behave?”

“…Yes.”

“Good,” Brian says, satisfied. “Or else I’d have to punish you like we used to.”

Roger makes a soft sound but doesn’t say anything else, seemingly waiting patiently for Brian to fuck him. Brian wraps his hand around his cock again and gives himself a few short strokes, pleasure tingling up his spine with every touch. With his free hand, he grabs Roger’s hip again and gently squeezes, using his other hand to rub the head of his cock against the space between Roger’s cheeks, brushing teasingly over his hole but making no effort to push inside.

Roger whines softly as Brian teases him, but he stays still for the most part, only twitching ever so slightly under Brian’s touch. It helps that Brian’s holding his hip to keep him steady, but he’s not actively trying to push back on Brian as he had so many times earlier.

He’s just allowing Brian to take his time, as torturous as the waiting may be.

Finally, Brian shifts forward and moves his hand down to the base of his cock, pressing the head more firmly against Roger’s hole until it slips in. Pausing every so often to allow Roger to adjust to the feeling of Brian’s cock inside him, Brian slowly pushes inside until finally he’s fully seated, his cock buried deeply in Roger’s ass.

Roger sighs deeply once Brian’s fully seated, as if he’s finally satisfied—though Brian’s sure that won’t last very long.

Brian grabs Roger’s other hip with his free hand, and with Roger bent over in front of him and Brian’s cock filling him up, it’s deliciously tempting to just start fucking into him, chasing the peak that’s been taunting him for what feels like hours now.

Normally, he would. But it _is _Roger’s birthday, after all; Roger should get a choice in the matter.

“How do you want it?” Brian asks.

“_Hard_,” Roger responds immediately. “I’m _dying _here, Brian,” he whines dramatically.

“You don’t look like you’re dying,” Brian muses, to which Roger takes one hand off the sink and attempts to swat at him, predictably failing to reach anywhere near Brian. 

“If you don’t fuck me right now I swear I’ll—“ Roger’s sentence is quickly cut off by Brian reaching around to Roger’s front and wrapping his hand around his cock, the touch apparently ceasing any and all coherent thought in Roger’s brain from the way he moans and presses into it, his hips jerking forward as he grasps at the edge of the sink again to avoid losing his balance.

“You can’t possibly be that naïve, Rog,” Brian says, disapproval cutting sharply through his words. “To think I wouldn’t take care of you? To think that, even now, I wouldn’t fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for days? I might drag it out a bit, but I’ll always give you what you need.”

“You promise?” Roger pants.

“I promise.”

True to his word, Brian gives into the want simmering in his veins and pulls back slowly, pulling out far enough that only the head of his cock remains inside Roger, and then pushes back in, burying himself to the hilt once again. He starts an initially slow pace; holding tight to Roger with one hand for leverage as he moves in and out of him, pleasure sparking through him with every movement.

His grip on Roger’s cock is unrelenting, made easier by the mess of precum and piss on Roger’s skin. Brian pays as close attention to his timing when fucking Roger as he does when he’s onstage with his guitar; every movement has to be perfect, every action in sync. He matches each push inside Roger with every stroke of Roger’s cock, and with the way Roger is whining so pretty and trying to take him even deeper, Brian knows he won’t last long.

He gives into temptation and starts fucking Roger harder, moving fast enough to nearly knock Roger into the mirror. His efforts are rewarded with an increase in the volume and frequency of Roger’s moans, as if he’s fucking the noises out of him; a thought that makes Brian involuntarily shudder.

“Bri, please, I _can’t_,” Roger all but sobs, his breath hitching in a telltale sign that he’s close. Brian doesn’t slow down or stop touching him; he wants to push Roger all the way to the end.

“Come on, love, let it go,” Brian coaxes, slightly out of breath from the exertion of fucking Roger. “I want to see you come for me. You look so good like this, Christ, Rog. Look at what you do to me.”

It doesn’t take long before Roger is tensing against him and crying out something that sounds vaguely like Brian’s name, his cock dripping cum between Brian’s fingers and spilling into the palm of Brian’s hand.

Before Brian can say anything else, Roger says his name again, over and over, sharp like a warning. Brian soon feels something else pouring out over his fingers, hot and familiar, and he realizes belatedly that Roger is pissing himself _again, _right into Brian’s hand, streaming through his fingers and hissing in the space between them, creating another puddle on the floor at their feet.

The feeling of Roger letting go all over again is too much for Brian to bear, and he comes only moments after Roger’s stream dies down into a trickle that becomes a few stray drops on his fingertips. Roger sighs contentedly as Brian’s cum fills him, only satisfied when Brian has nothing left to give him, the everlasting cum slut that he is.

Brian pulls out as his cock softens and helps Roger stand, letting Roger make a show of stretching and preening before he pulls Roger in and kisses him firmly.

He doesn’t care about the wetness on his skin or the fact that it’s soaking into Roger’s beard as Brian grasps his jaw to keep him still in the midst of their kiss.

They’ve done much, much worse.

“Happy birthday,” Brian murmurs against Roger’s lips when they separate, not wanting to move away from his husband for any reason whatsoever, even though he has no idea how much time has passed since they entered the bathroom. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Roger says, smiling brightly at him. “You make every birthday of mine special. Even the worst ones.”

It might be the most sentimental thing Roger’s ever said.

“But,” Roger adds, with a pointed glance towards their discarded pieces of clothing in the corner, “What are we going to do with those?”

“I haven’t got the faintest idea,” Brian confesses.

“Of course you haven’t,” Roger says, and leans in to kiss him again.


End file.
